


we are so much more than words

by Ember3ye



Series: a detailed and gay examination of how alex's and john's relationship would've progressed if he had lived [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining John, alexander sorting out shit, burr suffers, it takes alex a bit of time bless his poor heart, john is a badass tbh, john is gay and he knows it, lafayette just wants alcohol, lee is an asshole but what's new there, washington has to guess what gay drama is going on behind the scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: “Alex, he isn’t-”“He is.”John’s face went slack, the dismay clear in his wide eyes, his loosened jaw, his split lips. Alex felt a jagged pang, deep within his ribcage, and turned away, focusing on rolling up his paper. It hurt to look at John, dear, open, expressive John. He heard John’s gulp, the quick step forward, and then his hand was clasping around his lower wrist, stopping his movements.The touch burned.





	we are so much more than words

**Author's Note:**

> this is more like an elaboration on canon / actual history than an au  
> it's my first lams fic so it's basically me figuring out their relationship dynamic ygm  
> i took an artistic licence to some minor details, sue me.

-

People often got it wrong.

Well, not entirely wrong. They’d look at Alexander and immediately peg his undereye shadows to overnight work, spewing out page after page of opinionated bullshit. Which wasn’t wrong, but then their eyes would travel across to John, to his lifted features, and wonder how the hell someone sharing a tent with Alexander Hamilton was getting enough rest.

That definitely wasn’t right.

“Our candle’s almost burnt out,” Alexander commented, head raising from being almost level with the parchment to squint blearily at the fading light.

John grunted in acknowledgement beside him, wisps of his dark hair falling loose onto his shoulders as his ink cascaded out over the page, not even hesitating at Alex’s words. Sighing, Alexander leaned forwards, dampened his calloused forefinger and thumb, and put the candle out of its miserable last moments. Time to be the responsible one.

“John, we do need some sleep, you know.”

Fortunately, the scratchings of quill across paper halted, if a few seconds after the candlelight died - John was not one to finish his train of thought early.

“Maybe you do, but I was on a roll,” came the indignant, miffed response out of the dark, then a slide of clothing, and a muffled thump as his chair hit the dirt. “Motherfucker! It’s pitch black - Alex, why did you do this?”

“Nice going, John,” Alexander replied, standing up himself on wobbling, chair-cramped legs. “I thought you’d be intelligent enough to manoeuvre the two yards or so to your bed. God knows this tent is small enough, but I suppose I underestimated your clumsiness.”

“Alex, I swear if you don’t stop running your shitty mouth I might accidentally lose my balance and my fist will trip straight into your face,” John answered, and his flailing hand grasped around Alexander’s coat sleeve. “I can sense you smirking. Stop it.”

“What smirk?” Alexander questioned innocently, with the massive smirk on his lips only growing bigger, but John couldn’t see that. “Do you really think I, the right-hand man of George Washington, the shit-stirrer who brought the British government to its knees in New York, would smirk about something as trivial and petty as this?”

“Thanks for spelling it out for me. I don’t even have to insult you - you did that all yourself.”

John stepped to the side, and another bang echoed throughout the tent. “Fucking-!”

Alex hardly managed to stifle a snort, and he wasn’t surprised when John’s hand stabbed him in the side, digging underneath his ribs.

“Ha,” Alexander gasped out in pain. “Come on John, you can’t blame me for laughing at that -”

“I can and I bloody well will,” John shot back, his fingers unfurling from Alex’s coat a second before he dumped himself onto the thin straw mattress that passed as a bed. “I’m not changing,” he announced, groping around for the blanket and yanking it up. “Night, you Brit.”

Halting in his path, Alexander spun around, reached out a hand, brushed John’s head, and promptly drew back his hand again to smack it sharply, earning him a soft yelp of surprise. “Take that back, or I’m going to have to challenge you to a duel.”

“Ha, you think you can beat me? I’d have your hand blown off before you could even aim at me.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex retorted, finally finding his own bedding and gratefully rolling onto it.

“Yeah,” was the answer, and Alex could hear the tiredness floating into John’s voice, growing slow and thick.

He settled himself down, shutting his eyes. “Goodnight and good morning, John.”

“Fuck off with your pleasantries.You’re as bad as Burr at times.”

John’s closing statement was as bluntly passionate as ever, and it made Alex’s lips curl up into a smile, an instant before he passed out.

\--------

Alexander was summoned early in the morning.

“Sir?” Alexander greeted, suppressing a yawn with some difficulty as he entered George Washington’s tent, lavish by their poor standards.

As in, there was enough room for maybe three men to stand abreast, and perhaps five lengthways - spacious enough for a desk to be planted at the back, and another rounded, main one in the middle. Alexander’s station was mostly at the back, spending day after day convincing the wealthy to give rations and resources, working with John to put forward a plan of a battalion of African soldiers, whirling off essay after essay against the injustice of slavery. He was envious of John’s freedom, to be a fighter on paper and on the battlefield, but he had a duty.

George Washington didn’t even glance up, both of his fists clenched against the desk, staring down onto the sun-beaten map spread on the surface.

“Alex.”

“Sir?”

“Being entirely truthful, what, do you think, are our chances of winning this war?”

“Sir, I can’t-”

“But you can.”

He raised his head, and Alexander realised what he should’ve much sooner - that that wasn’t a query.

“Well,” he began, attempting not to steamroll as he usually did, John had told him he tended to ramble, “We definitely have a chance of winning, with Hercules spying - we’ve already kept you out of their clutches twice because of him, and that’s bound to frustrate them-”

“That isn’t what I asked you,” Washington cut across him. “Not if we have a chance or not. A frog fighting a boar will always have a chance, however tiny. I asked you what our chances are.”

Alexander licked his lips, and tumbled onwards. “As I’ve stated already, we do have advantages in ways. We’re keeping them on their guard so far, and I’ve been persuading congress to give us more supplies, which appears to be successful. I’ve also gained the backing of-”

“Alex,” George sighed out, rubbing a hand down his face. “You talk too formal when you’re nervous. Give me a one word answer.”

Alexander hesitated, teeth stripping the loose skin off of his lips. “Then I would say around forty percent, Sir.”

Washington closed his eyes, exhaling a deep gush of air. “Not too good then.”

“No, Sir.” Alex felt breathless. “Not too good, but not too bad either. We can turn the tables on them, if we just got that black regiment approved it would be a massive help, and support the British wouldn’t expect either. Lafayette is certain that France is sending a ship to aid us in our cause, so if we factor that in, our chances go up.”

“We can’t wager everything on the off chance the French troops will arrive in time,” Washington mused, but his dark eyes were sharper now, defiant hope replacing his temporary doubt. “Alex, get that plan approved, by any means necessary. We need those soldiers. Laurens will help you - he knows the legalities, he’ll be an asset. Lafayette can step up to his regular duties in Laurens’ absence, he’s more than capable.”

Alexander nodded briskly. “I’ll get onto it right away, Sir.”

“Good. We’re counting on you.”

\--------

John’s breath was hot on his neck.

“Don’t say that. Rearrange the phrasing a little, like ‘it is vital that’ - it’ll put more importance on your words, trust me. And suggest definite numbers. They’ll warm up more to sure, defined steps on how we’ll go about this so they can be lazy. Make it so that all they have to do is sit on their asses, pick up a quill and sign the damn thing.”

“Why don’t you just write the goddamn letter yourself?” Alexander grumbled, but he complied with John’s instructions, skin on the back of his neck prickling.

John straightened, still keeping an edgy eye on the letter. “I don’t have your elegant style, and the smooth touch of words you have. You know that, you talented fucker.”

“Heh,” Alexander grinned, turning his head slightly to wink at him. “So you admit, I am better than you.”

“Never,” John fired back, bending over again with one hand resting on Alex’s shoulder. “So what’re you planning to write next?”

As he dictated his ideas out to John, Alexander began wondering if he had a rash, maybe an odd allergic reaction to some material in his shirt. His shoulder was beginning to get uncomfortably hot, an itching sensation needling through his skin, causing his chest to constrict with some unknown force and flames to engulf his neck. He shifted underneath John’s hand, who squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Do you want to break for lunch? I think Lafayette promised to save us some extra pork, but he’ll eat them if we’re taking too long.”

“My dear John, have you forgotten how slow the French eat? I think our pork is very safe,” Alexander smiled back, but stood up regardless.

John’s warm eyes flicked across his face a moment before meeting Alex’s gaze again, and then Alex realised something.

“You’re taller than me.”

John’s grin was immediate and radiant, splitting his face brightly, like a chasm of light spanning through the galaxy.

“So I am.”

Alexander felt his face heating up, probably due to the outrage sparking in him. “I'm going to get a bayonet and batter you down again.”

“Alex, chill,” John smirked at him, eyes glinting. “It's barely an inch in the difference.”

“Then why do you look so damn smug? Did your mother ever teach you how to be humble?” Alex retorted, jabbing his finger into John’s chest.

“Are you stretching up onto your toes, Alex? Are you that intimidated?” John teased, straightening up so he maintained the slightest height difference.

“I'd sooner be intimidated by that prat Lee than by you,” Alex defended himself, spinning around and walking huffily out of the tent. “I'm going to get food.”

“Hey, wait up for me, you short furious man,” John called out to him, which only made Alexander patter away faster, swinging up the middle finger behind him.

\---

“Aye, Lafayette. Where’s our grub?”

Lafayette’s amiable, tanned face upturned towards them as the duo approached, his smile slinking downwards. Frowning, he stretched out his lengthy legs, shaking his head in confusion.

“Mes amies, did Aaron not give it to you? I tell - told - him, give this to our dear friends before it gets cold, and he said, of course!”

John sat down on the log beside him, grimacing. “Sounds like Burr took advantage of another opportunity he saw. We never got that pork.”

Alexander spun around, squinting against the glaring sun, gaze panning across the field of dirtied tents and milling, battered soldiers.

“Where is he?” He demanded, but he didn't manage to stride indignantly forwards a single step before John was pulling at his collar, tugging him back down.

“Alex, let it go. Burr’s an opportunist. He's going to do shit like this.”

“John, it was meat!” Alexander cried out dramatically, rocking back and forth on the log. “Good meat too! We can't let him get away with that - I'll fight him for it, he should give us his next ration of beer, and we'll share it with Lafayette as thanks, and he'll sit there sober and alone.”

“Isn't that what he does anyways?” John deadpanned, but truthfully. “Not much of a punishment.”

“I agree with that,” Lafayette nodded. “I would very much like more beer.”

“We're still gonna get our ration. Stop being such a moaner,” John sighed out, arching backwards to stretch out his back, which cracked with a content pop.

“I think,” Lafayette ventured, “That he should give us his beer ration. It is fair.”

“Lafayette, stop being an alcoholic for two seconds. You're as bad as Hercules, I swear.”

Alexander raised his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the crackling sunlight. “Look who's coming over, the bald bastard.”

John cracked a smile. “Aren't you actually-”

“Shut up, John. I know what I am, and he's more of one than I am, alright?”

John laughed, light and carefree, and pressed his shoulder against Alex’s. “According to you. I think your bastardry is pretty much equal.”

Lafayette observed them and smiled to himself, an instant before Burr’s shadow fell over them. Alexander angled his face upwards and stuck out his tongue at him, whereas John offered a more civil nod, and Lafayette simply adopted a betrayed expression. Burr pretended not to notice, his trademark “snake grin”, as Alex dubbed it, spread wide over his handsome face.

“Hello, John. Hello, Alexander,” Burr greeted, seating himself on the log opposite. “Fine day, isn't it?”

Alexander was just barely stopped by John’s firm hand from leaping to his feet and tackling him head-on.

“Fine day to steal someone’s food,” Alexander replied bitterly, scowling across at him.

Burr laughed it off. “Why on earth would I steal someone’s food?”

“Because you're petty and thought you could get away with it,” Alexander spat back, and John patted his thigh soothingly.

“Easy, Alex.”

Aaron simply raised an amused eyebrow, half-smiling at Alexander. “It was outside your ration, right? Purchased from a farmer who'll actually accept your money, money gotten from your wealthy wife? Is that fair?”

“It doesn't matter if it's fair or not, that was my food, you absolute neutral wagon.”

“Now, now, this doesn't validate childish insults, does it?”

“It'll be fine if you give us your next beer ration,” John offered, squeezing Alexander's arm, a gesture which told him to back off and let him handle this. “Isn't that fair? An equal exchange?”

Aaron leaned back, propping his hands behind his neck. “One question. You seem to be convinced that I've eaten your food, but can you prove it?”

“I gave it to you, to give to them!” Lafayette protested. “You have a serpent’s tongue, Burr. We know you ate it. Who else?”

“Maybe you're not telling the truth,” Aaron suggested offhandedly, casually crossing over his legs. “We have no evidence to back up your story.”

Alexander’s eyes flared, and John sighed, resting a hand on his arm. “He's only trying to rile you up.”

“Well, it’s working!”

John was about to try and wrangle the truth out of Aaron when a nasally voice wafted over to them, blown in by the wind of royal assholes.

“- he's not competent at all. Did you see how he conducted himself at the last battle? Sent the troops right into chaos. It's disgraceful, he's hindering the war more than helping it.”

John twisted around at the familiar, snooty voice, eyes narrowing. Charles Lee, his weak chin stuck high in the air, strode past, not even sparing a glance for the small group, tailed by several other limp excuses for men. A pain in the hole, somehow promoted to General over Alex, despite his utter incapability to do anything even resembling good command.

John was aware of Alex getting to his feet beside him, and he stood up with him, shoulder to shoulder. Lafayette followed suit a mere second after, glaring a hole in Lee’s back.

“Hamilton,” Burr said, unmoving. “Anyone with any sense knows he's talking bullshit. Let him be.”

Alexander whirled around, gesturing viciously at Lee’s retreating form. “Burr, surely even you have some sense of loyalty - he can't say shit like that and get away with it!”

“Agreed,” John backed him up, his nose scrunched up in distaste. “He needs to be shown that he can't fucking keep undermining our commander without consequences.”

“Exactly! Let's go, John.”

“Hold up,” came a voice, and Alexander stiffened, rotating around to face George Washington.

“Burr is right. Let it go, Alexander,” Washington commanded, his weathered face pinched in the afternoon heat. “We have more important matters to spend our effort on.”

Lafayette tilted his fine chin in Lee’s direction warningly. “Men like that one can get dangerous, if not checked.”

“Lee won't try anything,” Washington assured him. “Now, Alexander, may I speak to you for a moment? I need you back at your desk. You can complete that letter with Laurens later.”

“Of course.”

Alex left, following Washington, although he glanced back at Laurens, the downturned edges of his mouth giving away his displeasure.

Once they were out of sight, Laurens turned to Lafayette. “I'm going after that shithead Lee.”

Lafayette quirked a perfectly shaped eyebrow upwards. “Are you certain of this?”

“Washington said to Alex to leave him alone, but nothing to me. I have to defend his honour, Lafayette. Surely you understand that.”

“I understand that this is reckless and stupid, but I see why,” Lafayette sighed out, but clapped John on the back. “I will have your back, mon amie.”

“Thanks,” Laurens said grimly, but flashed him a bright, thankful smile. “As they say in France, vamos.”

Lafayette rolled his eyes and followed him to fuck up.

\---

“Charles Lee,” John announced, cornering him in his tent, adorned with delicately-handled swords and gleaming gold watches. “Apologise for all the bullshit you said about Washington.”

John made damn sure that his voice was loud enough to gather men around the tent entrance. If he was going to humiliate Lee, then by God was he going to do it publicly.

Lee, his dirt-blonde hair bent over the desk, straightened in his chair, half-smiling his weasly little smile over at John and Lafayette.

“Are these the sort of people who defend our dear Commander? Says a lot about him, doesn't it? A fag and a foreigner, quite the pair indeed.”

There was a collective laugh from the tent entrance, and Charles Lee leaned his tall frame back, hands linking behind his head smugly.

John hated the way his cheeks reddened, as if it was from shame rather than anger. Lafayette stepped towards him threateningly, and only John’s deliberate hand stopped him from grabbing Lee by the throat.

“If you can't stop running your mouth Lee, I'll have to do shut it for you,” John warned, his eyes narrowing.

Lafayette spat impressively far, his gob of saliva landing on one of Lee’s pristine boots. With a haughty curl of his lip upwards, Lee creased up his nose, regarding John distastefully.

“What could you do? Is this how you treat all your crushes, Laurens?”

This time Lafayette did lunge for him, past Laurens, and yanked him roughly up out of his chair by the front of his frilled shirt.

“Insult my friend one more time and even Washington won't be able to help you, you cul,” he hissed out into his face, which was currently slack with badly hidden fear.

“Charles Lee, step outside and duel me if you even have a shred of honour,” Laurens challenged, stepping up and laying a hand on Lafayette’s shoulder, despite the burning urge inside him to pound his fists into this guy’s smarmy, greasy face.

Lafayette relaxed his grip, if reluctantly, and Charles Lee rearranged his expression, careful that the men crowding around the entrance only saw what he wanted them to. Disdain and power.

“I accept,” he said evenly. “It's not as if I have much to fear. Can you even hold a gun? Is it too heavy for you, little gay boy?”

Laurens liked to think he had a long fuse, he really did. In reality, it was extremely short, shorter than Alex’s, and he knew a bigger, better man would walk away and let the duel deal with Charles. Something like Burr would do. Something honourable and elegant.

His hand shot out and closed around Lee’s neck, fingers lashing around and squeezing skin much too soft to be a soldier’s.

“Watch your words, Lee, or you mightn't even make it to the duel.”

Making a convulsed choking sound, a dribble of drool ran out the edge of Charles’ mouth, and John released his grip, disgusted.

“Washington will hear about this,” Lee spat out hoarsely, massaging his throat as Laurens stepped back.

“Consequences be damned,” Laurens told him simply, then turned away. “I'll see you in half an hour, asshole.”

Lafayette gave Lee a large, savage grin as he followed Laurens out, out through the throng of silenced soldiers.

\----

“Lafayette,” Laurens said, weighing up the pistol in his hands.

“Yes?”

“Will you do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Go get Alex.”

\---

Alexander was shaken from his writing rapture by a French accent, sounding a lot more panicked than he’d ever heard him.

“Alexander! Come out, now! John is duelling Lee!”

By the time Lafayette burst into the tent, Alexander was already on his feet, throwing on his coat.

“Now?!”

“Yes, maintenant! Penses-tu I'd be like this if the duel was later? Burr is le sot Lee’s second man, you must be John’s!”

Lafayette, while unflappable in battle, often lapsed back into his native tongue when stressed or anxious.

“Alright, alright, where is it?” Alexander asked, hurrying out of the tent. Moisture slapped him in the face, and he grimaced, knowing that rain was coming.

They reached the duelling ground in a matter of minutes, and Alex rushed over to John, seizing his lower arms. “John, it came to this?”

John, gaze lowered to the gun in his hands, lifted his chin and met Alexander’s eyes. A jolt of lightning seemed to hurtle through Alex upon seeing the look in John’s gaze, the seething force of a tempest behind his eyes. It reminded him of the raw rage of the hurricane that destroyed his entire town, tearing it up with a vengeance nothing living could be capable of.

“He deserves it,” John stated, and began putting in bullets into the chamber.

Alexander exhaled deeply, and let go of John. “What did he say?”

John shook his head.

“It wasn't just about Washington, was it? You wouldn't be this angry just over defending him. What did that pig-faced fucker say to you?”

John bit down hard into his full lower lip, and Alex’s eyes widened, realising just how much Lee got to him.

Before he could push him further, Lafayette appeared by Alex’s side, urgency running through his tone. “It's almost time. John, are you ready?”

John nodded once. “Alexander, tell Burr that Lee has to answer for his words. It's time he faces consequences for the first time in his pathetic life.”

Without thinking about it, Alexander clasped his hands tightly over Laurens’ as he nodded surely.

“You better win, John.”

John’s skin was hotter than he'd ever felt it, and for a light-headed moment Alex thought he could feel his pounding heartbeat, but it was only his own. Laurens’ thundery expression cleared, if only for a second, and he smiled at Alex, who inhaled sharply, breath expanding his chest with…. pride?

“That goes without saying,” Laurens told him surely, squeezing his hands. “Now go, Aaron’s waiting for you over there. Make it clear that there's no chance of negotiating a peace - just get the damn pleasantries out of the way.”

“Aye aye, commander,” Alexander headed off, saluting exaggeratedly, and John exhaled in amusement.

Alexander met Burr halfway.

“Aaron Burr, Sir,” Alexander greeted formally, shaking hands with his oldest friend.

A large circle of men had been drawn curiously to the grounds to watch - apparently the soldiers earlier had spread the word with some glee. Alexander could sense all their eyes on him and Burr, speaking right in the centre of the battleground.

“Alexander Hamilton. Can we agree that duels are pointless and immature? This really doesn't need to happen.”

Burr smiled placidly, and Alex recalled the blazing furnace in Laurens’ eyes.

“I'm afraid it does,” he addressed Burr seriously. “Lee needs to answer for his words, and after all he's said, John will not let this go with a mere apology, even if his weak-willed ass does forfeit. An apology would be an insult at this stage. So yes, Burr, it does have to be done.”

Burr looked surprised for a split second, then solemnity took over his face as he nodded, a small crest forming between his eyebrows.

“I understand.”

He stuck out his hand, and Alexander accepted it, shook it once, then they parted.

\---

Alexander’s breath was fire, scalding the inside of his throat, as still as a corpse trodden into the mud.

No. Don’t think about corpses, Alexander willed himself, John and Charles slowly walking away from each other. Don’t think of John as a corpse.

His fingers gripped the fabric of his trousers, indenting through to the hard bone of his kneecap.

_Come on, John. Don’t let that twatface beat you. I’ll never forgive you if you do._

Charles Lee stopped, and so did John. For the first time in his life, Alexander had an urge to pray, drop to his knees and beg. He swept it aside, underneath the rug of pride. John didn’t need God’s help, but it still unnerved Alex, how this was completely out of his hands. He just had to have faith in John.

Burr called out the countdown, his voice was unperturbed and even as ever. It irritated Alexander somehow, how he was so measured when John’s life was hanging by a single thread.

One.

John’s eyes were hard, obsidian behind the sparkling chestnut. Obstinate. Alex never expected anything less from him.

Two.

John’s fists were firm, steady. He always did have a remarkable talent for staying calm in precarious situations.

Three.

Alex’s own hands began to shake. Why couldn’t he be more like John?

Four.

Alex’s gaze drifted across to Charles Lee. He looked like he was about to shit himself. Alex felt a satisfied smile twitching on his lips.

Five.

He watched John suck in a deep breath, observing how his chest inflated bravely and how unusually stoic the line of his mouth was. He normally had such a broad, soft smile. Now that Alex thought about it, his grin really was gorgeous.  

Six.

Air gasped between Alex’s damp palms - he realised the wind had picked up.

Seven.

Alex’s eyes were drawn to a lock of curly hair, fraying down across his shoulder, apart from his ponytail, swaying back and forth at the wind’s mercy. He had a sudden desire to take down John’s hair, watch it sprawl messily over his shoulders, and tuck it all up again.

Eight.

Alex was starting to wish that he’d never supported John to do this. He should be up there, George Washington’s orders be damned. He’d rather be fired than lose his best friend. What had he been thinking? He didn’t even like being cooped up in that tent all that much.

It should be him, throwing his life onto a tightrope.

He could stand up and fling himself in front of John. The notion didn't surprise him greatly, the knowledge that he'd readily die to protect him already sunk deep into his subconscious.

Nine.

He was wondering if John would literally kill him if he stood up and called off the duel, apologised to Lee on behalf of both of them for impeding free speech. He looked at John and saw none of the fear that was roiling and rampaging inside him. It reminded him of pride, the reason they were doing this in the first place. John wasn’t backing down at all, and Alexander would be dammed if he ever let him down.

Ten.

The two shots, ringing out into dead silence within milliseconds of each other, startled Alexander, despite his anxious expectations. They were so...loud. In battle, it was different, constant - you got used to the level of chaos swiftly. He was up on his feet in an instant, stumbling over to John on worry-twisted legs.

“John! You’re-”

“Fine,” John finished, his hand falling from his arm, the material ripped in a horizontal line across it. “Ha, Alex - look at Lee!”

Lee was kneeling, face angled towards the dirt and an arm wrung around his torso. A low groan passed his lips as Aaron reached him, crouching down beside him.

“Lee, do you yield?” Alexander called out, grasping onto John’s arm in relief.

Aaron ducked his head to confer with Lee, but only a quick exchange was necessary before the conclusion.

“You shot him in the side - yes, he yields.”

John cracked a smile. “We won. I’m satisfied.”

“What are you talking about, ‘we’ ?”Alexander demanded, spinning John around to face him, holding him by the upper arms. “You did all of that, you were the one who put yourself at risk. Good job, John.”

John met his eyes, and crinkled his own up warmly. “Did you really expect any other outcome? I'm surprised his cowardly ass could even stand in front of a gun without bolting. I was fully expecting him to piss himself. Kind of disappointed about that, now that I think about it.”

Chuckling, Alexander relaxed his grip on him, his eyes travelling across to the ripped fabric just below his shoulder.

“Oh, shit,” John cursed, looking beyond Alex. “Alex - Washington’s coming, and he does not look like he’s in a good mood, so try and shut your mouth before you make it worse. It’s all on me, okay?”

Anger flashed through Alex, and his fingers sunk into John’s shoulders. “No way am I allowing you to take-”

“Burr!” Washington commanded, striding over, all six foot two of him towering over all present, his nostrils dilating with rage. “What’s going on? Actually, no,” he corrected himself, holding up a hand to cut off Burr. “I know this is because of you, Alexander. I told you to let it go, and you instead defied my direct orders. This could be classed as treason.”

His gaze dug into Alex, who squared his shoulders, preparing to argue back, defend himself, when John surged forwards, shaking his head. “Sir, I took part in the duel. It should be me who you’re berating, not Alex.”

“I know my men, Laurens. You don’t have to tell me who played which role. But we won’t do this here. Hamilton, meet me inside.”

He only called Alexander ‘Hamilton’ when he was in serious shit.

John tried to grab his wrist, his lips parting in some words Alexander was sure were to convince him not to go in, to let John take all the blame for this instead. He didn’t get a single syllable out - Alex covered his mouth with his hand, sealing his tongue. John's eyes widened, his hands raising to free his lips, but Alex didn't give him the chance.

“Let me handle this,” he said simply, and stalked straight into the tent.

\---

Laurens was, once again, scribbling down the rough outline of another essay when Alexander returned later, what seemed like an age but was probably only half an hour. His gaze ghosted upwards, absorbing Alexander’s expression. The query dropped from his lips and he jerked to his feet, the chair toppling over into the dirt.

“Alex, he isn’t-”

“He is.”

John’s face went slack, the dismay clear in his wide eyes, his loosened jaw, his split lips. Alex felt a jagged pang, deep within his ribcage, and turned away, focusing on rolling up his paper. It hurt to look at John, dear, open, expressive John. He heard John’s gulp, the quick step forward, and then his hand was clasping around his lower wrist, stopping his movements.

The touch burned.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” came John’s quiet voice. “I pulled the trigger. It should be on me.”

“No,” Alex snapped back, and the sharpness of his tone surprised him. “I should’ve stopped you. This is as much on me as it is on you, Laurens, and I have to own up to my actions.”

John blinked, his grip tightening around Alex’s wrist.

“Laurens? Since when-”

John cut himself off, shaking his head. There were more important things to address.  “Listen, it’s not logical to do this. You’re his right-hand man - he can’t just write you off like this!”

“He can,” Alex said dully. “Think on the bright side. Burr will be delighted, another opportunity to suck up to the Commander-In-Chief. I bet he’ll say stuff like, ‘I would never act so recklessly’ and shit like that. Will you do me a favour, John? Punch him every time he acts like the lord of hindsight. And make sure it’s hard, but not hard enough for you to get reported.”

“I’m offended that you even had to say that, Alex. Of course I will,” John promised gently.

“So will you let go of me now?”

John glanced down, realised he was still holding Alex’s wrist, and released it, a bit sheepishly. “Oh. Right.”

“Thanks,” Alex said flatly, gathering all his stuff away.

He could feel John’s unmoving eyes on him, his gaze smoking against Alex’s skin, sinking in, deep and clear. He tried to take a breath and found that the air wasn’t moving right in his lungs - it was sluggish, casting a shade of red over his cheeks. Since when did it get so damn hot in here? He quickly stripped off his coat, still avoiding John’s fierce eyes.

“Oh, by the way,” Alex began, desperate to shift the thick atmosphere. “Did you get your arm checked out? It could get infected, and then I’d have to cut it off - or worse, Lee will volunteer to slice it off and he’ll make it as slow and as painful a procedure as possible.”

That seemed to shake John out of his stupor.

“Ah,” he mentioned, glancing over at his torn coat arm. “I got distracted, but it’s nothing anyway, just a graze, I’m sure.”

Alex examined his arm, spotting some dried blood staining the shirt beneath. “That’s not just a graze. Let me take a look at it, so you don’t die.”

“Dying is sounding more attractive by the day, I must admit,” John commented as he sat down. “I’d rather be bumped off by an infected wound than by another one of Burr’s mind-numbing speeches.”

“By a wound you got from Lee? Come on John, have some pride,” Alex admonished, slipping off his coat.

“Fine. I’d prefer to have a beaver tear off my ankle than die because of one of them. Happy?”

“Better than dying because of Burr or Lee. I'd rather have smallpox finish me off than either one of those bastards.”

“We’re supposed to be friends with Aaron, you know,” John chided him, but there was a smile curling around the edges of his pleasantly wide lips.

“I display affection by insulting him,” was Alexander’s curt response, helping John unbutton his shirt.

Alexander’s breath stalled in his throat as he removed John’s shirt, staring at the furrow across his flesh the bullet left.

“John, that isn't a graze!”

John glanced at his bleeding arm, shrugged, and made a face. “Eh, it's not so bad.”

Alexander moved to behind him, crouching down to rustle through his bag for medical supplies he knew he had here somewhere. “Don't be stupid. You've got to get to the medical tent, even as a precaution. You have to be careful with yourself, especially in this heat. Things can get out of hand very quickly.”

John made a disgusted face. “You sound as bad as Aaron, careful-this and caution-that.”

Alexander finally found the antiseptic he was looking for, and rotated around. His gaze stumbled over the landscape of John’s bare back, a sight he'd seen hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times, but only glimpses. He'd never taken it in properly. He stepped forwards, and mellow eyes traced his shaped form, the thin muscles that leant him his lanky strength, the freckles dotted all up his spine, arranged in clusters between his shoulder blades, the dips in his sallow skin.

A white curve captured his focus, arching from John’s left side, just about his hip, to the middle of his back, a clear, nasty slice. Eyebrows furrowed, Alexander took another step, his fingertips reaching out.

“Alex?” John asked into the uncharacteristic silence.

“When did you get this?” Alex spurted out, and his cool fingers brushed against warm skin. “I don't remember this.”

A shiver seemed to run through John, his shoulders tensing up, all the more noticeable to Alexander now.

“That's why I told you not to worry about my arm,” he said, as if that was an answer. “I've gotten worse and survived.”

“But - how?” Alexander pressed, his fingertips skimming down John’s back, tracking the route of the scar. “Surely I would've seen this.”

“You're a busy guy,” John answered back dully. “You don't see nearly as much as you think you do.”

Alex blinked, the words stinging with some underlying resentment he didn't expect, or understand. “What's that supposed to mean? John, please say you went to the doctor with this - it looks far too serious to be treated by you, and -”

“It's fine,” John interrupted him, twisting around in his chair to face him. “Aaron helped me tend to it.”

Alexander jerked his hand away, shock spreading through him. “Burr? Burr knew about this and you didn't tell me?!”

John’s eyes widened, the realisation of his mistake sinking in. “Alex, calm down-”

“We’re friends, John! You're my dearest friend in this entire damn world, and you didn't come to me when you needed help? I could’ve-”

“You didn't need to help me!”

John's yell did the impossible - silenced Alexander. He knew he shouldn't be bothered by this nearly as much as he was, but...he was, and Alex couldn't explain it. John sighed, rubbing his hands down his face.

“Look, it's just an old injury. You don't have to get so personal,” he muttered, turning back around on his chair. He reached for his coat, slipping it on deftly. “I'll take care of it later.”

He got up and left, leaving Alexander with his sweaty hands clenched around bandages, with his jaw gritted so forcefully the pressure was almost painful.

\----

“Laurens?” Washington titled his head to the side. “Is something the matter?”

John chewed on his lower lip briefly, his hands fidgeting with his coat buttons. Washington’s eyes flicked down to the movement, and he frowned, wondering why he wasn't wearing anything beneath the coat.

“Kind of, Sir. I need to talk to you about your decision to send Alex home.”

Washington was about to dismiss him, say that nothing he said could change his mind - but something in John’s voice stopped him. Perhaps it was the stubborn gleam in his eyes, of the resolutely set line of his mouth, but he swept the tent flap aside and gestured him forwards.

“Come in, then. I trust you have a good reason for doing this.”

“Yes, sir,” Laurens told him quietly, almost in a murmur.

He seemed to be in low spirits, Washington noticed as he guided him to a chair, which he slumped into gratefully. Was that all because he was sending Alexander home? Washington knew that they were close, perhaps friends of the closest kind, but surely their friendship, if it was that strong, could preserve distance.

Washington settled himself opposite John, who lifted his blank stare from his shoes. “Sir, you should be sending me home. I was the one who partook in the duel, the one who shot Lee. Why are you punishing Alexander?”

Washington heaved a sigh, removing his hat and slinging it onto the side of his chair. “His wife’s pregnant. She wrote a while back, asked me to send him home.”

“Oh.” John blinked once, hard, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “His wife.”

Washington nodded, something niggling at the back corners of his mind. “I knew if I sent Alexander home now with only that reason, he'd never forgive me. I was selfish - I couldn't operate without his support, so I didn't tell him. But I'm doing the right thing now, so you better have a good reason for me to defer all the blame onto you. Charles Lee will want justice too, you know. I can't be seen going soft on some and tough on others.”

John nodded, his hands twisting tightly together in his lap. “I understand. That's why I'm suggesting sending me home instead of Alex. It'll crush him. This is where he belongs, fighting for our country. Even if Eliza wants him home, it'll be safer for his child if the war is over quicker - and that's not going to happen if he's at home, twiddling his thumbs.”

“Actually,” Washington started, and he reached over to his desk, grasping a letter from the top of a pile. “I have some news for you both. It's why I was coming over to your side of the camp. It's from Congress.”

He handed the letter to John, who read through it with disbelief.

“Our plan’s approved? We can go ahead and form a black battalion?”

Washington nodded. “That's what it says. So if you really want to take the brunt instead of Alexander, I can send you to the South to start hiring men.”

Laurens met his eyes, his deep gaze brimming with sorrow for some reason.

“But he has to get home to his wife.”

Another oddity in John’s voice - another nagging at the corner of his mind, this one a little bigger. What was it that he wasn't seeing?

“I can send him home a bit before she gives birth. He'll be there for his kid,” Washington promised.

John lowered his head - “Yeah. That's important for him. Since his father wasn't around. I'm sure he wants to be there every moment he can for his child. I'll go to the South.”

\- and something finally clicked into place in Washington’s mind. John’s sexuality had always been clear to him, and it wasn't as if he tried to hide his uninterest in women, but he'd never seen him - he hadn't thought - Alexander Hamilton? His best friend?

It made sense, now that he thought a bit more about it.

John glanced up at him, his features devoid of hope. Their eyes met briefly, and Washington must've not been as in control of his expression as he thought, because John dropped his face in the next second, shoulders hunching up.

“Don't tell him,” John said softly, staring at his hands, at the letter. “I'll leave, and then I'll forget about him.”

He didn't seem surprised that Washington had guessed.

“Laurens,” Washington started, as kindly as he could create. “You must be-”

“Don't. I'll leave for the South tomorrow then,” John cut in, and his voice wavered, just the slightest amount. He stood up. “Thank you, Sir.”

And Washington just nodded, the Commander-In-Chief of the whole revolutionary army clueless as to what to do as Laurens lay down the letter back down on his desk, and left.

He glanced to the desk, and saw a single damp spot at the corner, staining through the paper. George’s eyes drifted over to the tent flap, still quivering in the wind, and his gaze misted over.

Poor John.

\---

“Alexander? What can I do for you?”

Burr snapped his book shut, only an irregular tilt of his head giving away his curiosity as Alexander made his way into the tent, his lower lip practically shredded with his teeth.

“Burr, you're good with advice,” Alex started, flopping down on Burr’s bed. “With life and stuff.”

“Make yourself comfortable, why don't you?” Burr commented, eying Alex spread flat on his bed, apparently determined to take up as much space as possible.

“Cease being passive-aggressive for one moment and listen to me,” Alex whined, rolling off the bed and onto his feet again. “I think I have a very real problem.”

Burr sighed, crossing his hands over the book in his lap patiently. “Alright, what is it?”

Alexander's shoulders bunched up, and his gaze plummeted down to the floor, moodily kicking lightly at Burr’s chair leg. “I...well - look, it's difficult to put it into words, okay?”

“That's a first,” Burr said, and got a sharp glare from Alex in return.

“Can't you mind-read or something?”

“Even if I could, I have no desire to subject myself to the horrors in your noisy mind. I wouldn't do that to myself.”

“Burrrrrrrr,” Alex complained, pacing the floor of the tent as much as he could. “I need help - no, not help, I'd never ask for help from you - but some advice, or guidance, or something.”

“Regarding what?”

Alex only let out a low groan in response, raking his hand back through his dangling hair, and kept his mouth shut for once. Burr cocked an eyebrow - it must really be an uncomfortable subject for him, and Burr was pretty certain he knew exactly what this was about.

“I can't help you if you don't tell me anything, Alexander,” Burr tried again, but Alexander only shook his head.

Burr pursed his lips - he disliked giving away anything he knew, but it looked like Alexander was determined to let this drag on if he didn't get to the point.

“Is it about Laurens?”

Alex halted in his tracks, squinting at Burr through tired eyes. “So you can read minds.”

“Any idiot who looked at your face during the duel would figure it out.”

Alexander bypassed his dry remark and steamrolled on.

“I thought I was sick at first or something, I kept feeling hot and almost dizzy but then I realised it only happened when he was around or touching me or laughing -”

“Hold on Alexander, breathe,” Burr interrupted, and Alexander took in a massive gulp of nervous air. “You look like you're about to pass out.”

“Listen,” Alexander defended himself, face burning as he strode more furiously around the small tent. “I don't know what to do, Burr. I can't exactly write my way out of this one. It’ll take ages for a letter to reach Angelica, and I need some advice now.”

“Why not Washington?”

Alexander's swallow was audible. “I don't want him to think that - I mean, I don't know how he'd react to me being… I know he's okay with John, but however open-minded he is… I just don't want him to see me that way.”

“I understand,” Burr said gently, and he thumbed through the pages of his book thoughtfully. Now… how to explain his thoughts to a hot-blooded impulse-led man. “Alexander, have you ever experienced being in love before?”

“I guess...Eliza.”

The way he said her name made it sound almost like a question.

Burr leaned forwards. “Here's what I think. I think you love Elizabeth Schuyler. There's no doubt about that.”

Alexander’s gaze was sucked involuntarily to the silver band on his finger. “Yeah. I do. I wouldn't have married her just for the status and money.”

“So you are content in your marriage.”

“Of course.”

Burr leaned backwards. “Alexander, I had a girlfriend before I met Theodosia.”

“What? Really? How did you manage that, tell her about your neutral stance on everything until she swooned into your arms from pure boredom?”

Burr ignored him.

“Name of Lucy. I was content with her too, you see. She was fairly intelligent, pretty, a bit coarse at times but I could deal with that.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Hold your horses. As I said, I was content with her. I would've married her if I hadn't seen Theodosia that evening. She was… exceptional, from her witty tongue to the softness of her hair.”

Alex cocked his head to the side, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Have you written poetry about her, by any chance?”

Alex caught a glimpse of a smile on Burr’s lips - a genuine smile, so unlike the stretched crocodile-like one.

“Perhaps. But she made me realise something - contentment is not happiness, and after a few months, I broke up with Lucy, even though Theodosia was married. I wanted her, and Lucy was no longer enough.”

“So, apart from giving me more information that I ever knew about your love life, what's your advice?”

“I dislike spelling things out for people. Learn from my experience, Alexander,” Burr said simply, and opened his book again.

Alexander stared at him for a moment, but Burr had on a completely straight face, and gave away nothing. Alex had to come to a conclusion on his own, or none at all.

“Are you saying that John is my Theodosia?”

Burr chose to go the cryptic route.

“If that's what you think I am saying. If that's what you want to find in my words, it's probably true.”

“Burr, this is different - you weren't married! You have the money by yourself, and -”

“Laurens is from a wealthy family, no?”

Alexander dipped his eyes. “He's also married. He has a kid back in London.”

Burr glanced up from his book, closing it deftly with a single hand. This was much more interesting. “Really? He never mentions them.”

“He's never seen his daughter,” Alexander explained. “And he doesn't like talking about them.”

“Must've been a marriage to preserve the family’s honour,” Burr deduced. “I never would've thought that would happen, though.”

“It was a shock to me too,” Alex admitted, slumping down onto the bed, curling his knees up to his chest. “He told me a few months before I married Eliza. It felt weird somehow, knowing he had a wife and a kid somewhere.”

Burr hummed in distant sympathy. “He likely feels the same way about Eliza.”

“I think-” Alexander hesitated, swaying to his feet. “I think I need to go back to my tent and think alone for a while. Maybe take a walk.”

“Clear your head, and don't do anything rash,” Burr advised as his book fell open again. “Some things you can't rush into recklessly, Alexander. Love is one of them.”

Alexander swallowed hard, sucking in the side of his cheek as he stared at the floor. “I know that.”

“Then you should be fine.”

Burr returned to calmly reading his book, and Alexander shivered, unable to rid himself of the eerily cold sensation on his skin. He exited the tent, and the cloth by the entrance didn't stop twitching in the mild wind for some minutes.

\---

Alexander walked down to the duelling grounds.

He had planned to go into the woods ringing one side of the encampment, but he found himself hesitating at the spot where John had shot Lee, dawdling there and thinking of his steely hand, how willing Alex was to give up everything he'd worked for if only John’s life was safe.

He'd do the same for Eliza and Angelica, of course. Within a heartbeat.

John never would've forgiven him if he had called off the duel, but he was about to, forfeit their pride and honour for the guarantee of John’s life. Lee wasn't worth risking even John’s pinky finger for.

Alexander folded his legs beneath him, staring at how the darkness curved around the rough bark of the trees in front of him.

If it had been Eliza up there, would he have objected? If Angelica had been in the same situation, would he have trusted her enough to stay alive?

This sort of thinking was getting Alexander nowhere. He still couldn't unblur the line between John and the Schuyler sisters, because he knew there was a line there, a line that decided who would send his heart fluttering and who would send it into overdrive, rapid and disorientating.

Alex let out a soft groan, drooping his head into his hands, gripping the roots of disorderly, unwashed hair. He didn't have time to eat or even wash himself half the time - he most definitely didn't have time for agonising over his damn love life. That was supposed to be over and done with when he married, sealed away in a neat little envelope, edited and approved by Washington. He could still feel all the letters and essays he had to do swirling around in the back of his mind, letters filing into words, words slotting into sentences, arranging and rearranging and paraphrasing constantly.

Laurens’ smile kept slipping over his work, and Alex kept picking out his freckles in the spilt ink of every written word.

It had been happening for a while, if he was being honest with himself. He'd just ignored it.

_Your Theodosia._

Even Burr had gone after whom he'd truly wanted - even fucking Aaron Burr, and Alexander Hamilton, of all people, was going to pass over…

He mentally paused, and only the image of John came to mind, how he laughed so easily in the early hours of the morning, slow and bleary, eyes brighter than any candle.

So that was it then. John Laurens was who he really wanted.

With a deep sigh, Alex bent over, curling up so his knees hit his chest and his boots scraped through the dirt. He felt his chest crumble in on itself.

The one person he couldn't possibly be in an open relationship with. Of course it was.

Alexander got to his feet, and a single shudder ran through him before he gathered himself, gently slapping the side of his face. He'd dealt with unfavourable circumstances before, all his life.

This was no different, he told himself surely.

He'd figure it out.

He had to.

\---

“Why are you still awake?”

The words felt raw in Laurens’ throat, almost painful to say.

Alexander glanced up at him, and it always took John’s breath away, how he looked after he'd poured out his soul onto the page, with squinting, half-lidded eyes, dark hair in utter disarray, strands loose all around his face. He lifted a hand and pushed away all the stray hair from his face, gazing at John with his usual sharp, intelligent eyes, impossible for the fickle candlelight to hide.

“I'm always awake at this hour. Where did you go?”

Laurens hesitated, and Alexander's gaze narrowed. “Did you go to Burr again? Did he fix you up, better than the doctor? Better than I would've?”

His words sliced into Lauren’s chest, and he swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I didn't go to Burr. I went to Washington, and you're staying.”

Alexander rose from his chair, the cogs turning behind his eyes. “Wait - that means - did you -”

“Yeah,” Laurens confessed, dumping himself onto the bed. “I'm leaving tomorrow.”

Alexander started towards him, all of the tired glossiness overshadowing his gaze replaced by alarm, very urgent alarm. “John, it’s not your fault, it's all that shithead Lee’s fault, you shouldn't be going back for his stupid sake. Surely you see how ridiculous that is! I'll go to Washington tomorrow - hell, right now - and demand that you be reinstated to your position.” Alexander’s hands were gesturing everywhere, flying into every and any possible space, a habit he usually had under control. “I'll go on strike, not do any work until he decides to keep you here, and Lafayette will second that, and then he'll have no choice-”

“Calm down, Alex. I'm not going home,” Laurens told him, unbuttoning his coat and slinging it over the chair. “Washington was going to tell us that he'd received word back from Congress - that's why he stumbled across the duel. Our plan for the black battalion has been approved, and I need to go down South to recruit them.”

He didn't want to look at Alex’s expression, so he kept his gaze directed downwards, concentrated on pulling off his boots. He sensed Alexander sit down beside him, and felt a cool touch on his arm. Cool fingers, but it felt like a summer breeze, one just like back home, sending warmth through his veins.

“You still didn't go to the doctor about this,” was the quiet comment. “Hold on.”

Alex got up with a rustle of clothing and retrieved the medical supplies he’d taken out earlier, settling down beside John. John breathed out, hard, as Alex dabbed the wound with disinfectant, as lightly as he could manage.

“I’m coming with you. I mean, it was both of our plan, after all. It only makes sense.”

“No. You need to be at Washington’s side. I can handle it down there,” John concluded, looking at Alexander's hand at work and not at his face.

“You're even more reckless than me in battle,” Alexander stated, cleaning away the dried blood around the wound. “Make sure you don't fuck anything up.”

John managed to crack a half-smile, his gaze elevating to Alexander’s lower face, watching how he subconsciously sucked in his lower lip as he thought. “I'm not planning to.”

Alex’s mouth was chapped, rough around the edges from constantly putting off drinking, from always being exposed to the heat of a candle at night, from stubbornly running his mouth. It had fascinated John, how deft and swift the words flowed from his lips, long before he'd realised he was in love with him.

It was a mistake to look at his face. John turned his head away, closing his eyes. Should he tell him that his wife is pregnant? Alex would feel torn between his duty here to his country and his responsibility to tend to his wife, and John didn't know what he would choose to do. He did know that it would put him under even more stress and pressure if he knew. Washington had promised to send him back before his wife was due to give birth, too.

Despite this, John still wanted to tell him. He still hated keeping this from him. Or anything from him, really.

“Alex, do you really want to know how I got that wound? There's a reason I didn't tell you, though, and you have to promise me that you won't...well, overreact.”

Alexander gave a stiff, dry chuckle. “In all the years you've known me, John, have I ever overreacted?”

“You once punched a man in the face for calling me a faggot and dislocated four of your knuckles.”

“And? I asked for an example of me overreacting.”

John exhaled heavily, and he smiled then, lifting his chin to meet Alex’s warm eyes. They crinkled up as he looked at them, and as always, John’s heart clenched breathlessly within his ribcage.

“Seeing his nose pour blood was satisfying,” John admitted, wishing that Alex didn't have a wife back home, wishing he could lean over those few inches and kiss him in thanks.

Alex cracked a smile. “I heard that I knocked out four of his teeth.”

“Really? I heard that he lost six,” John added, his own smile responding to Alex’s, growing and thriving on his lips.

Alex laughed, wrapping the bandages tightly around John’s arm. “So what's the story behind this wound, then, before we get into the lengthy saga of me punching people who deserve much worse?”

The bandages around John’s arm suddenly gave a jerk, cutting into his wound, and John inhaled quickly, cursing underneath his breath.

“Ah, sorry, but it had to be done,” Alex mentioned, tying off the bandage. “So,” he began, pulling over the chair, placing it in front of John. “Where'd the injury come out of?”

Now that Alex was in front of him, his usual late-night sparkle in his eyes, the one that always betrayed his interest and passion in something, John abruptly found his throat clogging up, his breath thick. He'd caught glimpses of that fleck of glitter before, always out of the corner of his eye when he was in the zone, pen flowing across paper as fluid as the wind shifting the clouds, but never focused on him, because of him. It was one of the many reasons he'd fallen in love with him, those swift flashes of intense, utter dedication.

John couldn't quite register that it was directed at him right now, all of it, like a fiery iron, branding him from the inside out.

He licked his lips, recalling.

“It was a couple of months ago - do you remember that battle where we got caught up with the merchants while ambushing that group?”

Alexander hummed. “Of course. They were the ones Lee tried to steal from, and then they got pissed off with all of us?”

“Yeah, those ones. Remember, you were with Lafayette, and I was assigned to Lee’s command. We attacked together, from the flanks.”

“Spare me the details, John. I know what happened, I was there.”

John cracked a dry smile, which Alexander returned. “Get to the point.”

“There was this guy, who came for you - your back was turned, fighting some other damn redcoat. So I stepped in behind you, tried to parry his blade away. And then…” John hesitated. “This bit’s something I'm still not sure of. But I think you spun around, your sword rising up, and I was too close to you - it was my fault, really, but I was worried that you'd blame yourself, okay? That's why I didn't go to you with the injury. Aaron agreed with me. You already had too much on your plate.”

Alexander leaned forwards, his brow deeply furrowed, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

“How did I not notice?”

“I moved on immediately, and it was one of your first battles, wasn't it? You were probably a little overwhelmed, a little wild.”

Alexander nodded his agreement. “I was even worse than you at the start, I'd dive into every little skirmish there was.”

He got up and circled around to John’s back. His sighing breath swirled against his coffee-tinged skin as Alex crouched down, examining the scar.

“I can't believe I didn't see it. I'm sorry, but I do wish you still would've told me, even if I do blame myself.”

“There was no need to,” John said simply.

“I tell you everything, John.”

“That doesn't oblige me to tell you everything.”

Alexander stood up, striding around to face John again. “Why wouldn't you? Do you not trust me enough?”

He didn't sound insulted, exactly, but there was a string of hurt running though his voice, otherwise only curious. John drew a hand back through his hair, loosening his ponytail.

“Listen, Alex… I've always been a private person, and I've never had someone like you who wants to know everything that happens in my life. I'm still adjusting to that,” John explained, thankful that Alexander's face was still clear.

His heart hammered in his chest as Alexander stooped down, taking John's hands in his. And when he felt Alexander's mouth rest against the back of his fingers, he wasn't sure if he even had a heart anymore. His starred cheeks heating up worryingly fast, John could totally see why Eliza fell for him so quickly when he turned on the charm - wait, no, this was a friend thing, a best friend thing wasn't it he wasn't trying to seduce him goddamnit John get your head _together_ -

“It doesn't matter if you don't tell me absolutely everything, as long as you take care of yourself, I'm happy,” Alexander declared, rising up and letting go of John’s hands, which suddenly felt very frigid indeed.

John licked his dry lips, praying that the heat left his burning cheeks soon. Then again, maybe Alexander wouldn't notice in the dim light. He inclined his head.

“I will.”

“Thank you,” Alex breathed out, and John felt his hands clasp around his again, squeezing delicately.

He just wanted to feel Alex's lips on his, just once. Once would be enough.

Alexander stood up, eyes ghosting around the tent. “I suppose we should go to sleep.”

John's body was buzzing. “I don't think I could sleep. But you can try.”

“I honestly doubt if I can fall asleep too,” Alex responded, then hesitated, his eyes tracing the structure of Laurens’ high arched lips.

Clearing his throat, Alexander shuffled over to his side of the tent, his averted gaze making John think that he must've imagined it, the brief drop of his attentive eyes to John’s mouth.

John also got to his feet, hand touching the bandage Alex had secured skilfully around his arm. He glanced at Alex himself, who was currently staring intently at his desk, muttering underneath his breath. John couldn't quite catch what he was saying, since his back was facing him, but then Alex turned to him, and John heard a murmur something like, “Fuck it.”

Alexander stepped towards John, and there was a hurricane in his eyes.

“Alex?” John blinked, and smiled waveringly, trying to get rid of the thick, static-filled air. “If your insanity is beginning to show, I'll have to-”

Alexander's hand came down on John’s shoulder, and his mouth closed over John’s faltering smile.

John had imagined this so many times, had tried not to fantasise about what he thought was the impossible so many times, lying sleepless in bed that Alexander’s warm lips almost overwhelmed him, his head growing fuzzier and more dizzy with every soft press against his mouth. He almost forgot to kiss back.

Alexander drew back, their foreheads touching still. Stunned, John blinked at him, and Alexander swallowed, stepping back.

“Did I read things wrong?” he asked quietly, anxiety crossing his face.  

His voice finally made Laurens think.

“No,” he replied, standing and catching Alex’s face in his palms, closing his eyes as he gently kissed him, properly this time. Alexander inhaled in hushed surprise, hazy and mellow, like a wisp of a cloud against Laurens’ mouth.

“You didn't, you impulsive idiot,” John told him as they paused for breath, opening his eyes to behold the chaste, unconscious smile unfurl across Alexander's face.

 _Lord help me_ , John thought, watching Alexander’s slow, enrapturing grin.

He still couldn't quite get his head around this, and Alexander gave him no time to. Arms circled his neck and a chest pushed up against his, Alex’s lips flattened to his. They were beginning to feel more and more familiar to John, and how Alex kissed - like he talked, flowing and tirelessly - was borderline intoxicating, muddling him up more than any alcohol could.

He briefly wondered if he had kissed Eliza the same way.

“John,” Alexander muttered, pulling back slightly. “At what stage did you realise we had something? Did you only realise it now? Did Burr talk about it with you? He seemed to know already so I think maybe he talked about it with you but then again it isn't like him to make the first move or reveal what he knows so maybe you went to him?”

John threw his head back and laughed, his grin splitting his face brightly, like a streak of light. “I didn't go to Aaron, stop worrying about that. Can you shut up for once in your life and make out with me?”

Alexander's lips curved up into a little smile, trying to appear put out but failing awfully - he never was good at hiding anything, or holding anything back. He was who you saw, and John loved that.

“I guess I can do that, if you ask more eloquently,” Alexander quipped, tilting his head to the side. He couldn't hide how his gaze fell to John's mouth for a second again, though.

“I don't have your writing or speaking talent, but I can kiss you as _eloquently_ as you’d like,” John answered, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist.

“Don't be stupid,” Alexander responded, his hands resting on John’s upper arms, careful with his bandaged wound. “You have all the speaking skill I have and more, so charm me, John Laurens.”

Alexander winked at him, wisely keeping his lips just out of John’s reach, frustratingly enough. John pulled a face, relenting unwillingly. He cleared his throat, attempting to keep a serious expression as he spoke.

“Dear Alexander,” John started, and Alex spluttered into laughter. “What is this, a letter? Come on Laurens, you can do better. Seduce me. Make me weak with your words.”

“I can seduce much better with my body rather than my words,” John shot back smoothly, and Alexander nodded his approval.

“That's more like it.”

John grinned at him. “My tongue may not be as sharp as yours, but I'll always be up for sticking it down your throat.”

“You're not taking this seriously,” Alexander accused heatedly, narrowing his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” John began, watching how Alex’s eyes glimmered with fond amusement. He still couldn't believe it was all directed at him. “Alex, you're confident, witty and extremely handsome. I would love it if I could ki-”

He was cut off by Alex’s mouth fastening on his.

“Sorry,” Alex whispered lowly, breaking the kiss briefly. “It was perfect, I just couldn't wait any longer.”

“Good, then stop talking” Laurens said, and promptly crushed their lips together again.

John backed him up against the desk, his hands clawing through the thin fabric of Alex’s trousers, lifting him up onto the desktop. A little gasp of surprise into John’s mouth was Alex’s only reaction, his legs closing in around John’s waist. Paper was crumpled up, crushed and ruined beneath Alex’s body, and neither of them cared. John’s hands found their way to Alex’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons, unwilling to break the kiss to glance down. He felt hasty warmth clasp around his hands, Alex hurriedly aiding him as his shirt gradually fell from around him, firstly drifting down off his slender shoulders, then fluidly dropping to his lower arms, and finally settling on the desk, discarded completely.

Alexander wasted no more time in running his hands all over John’s curved back - the desk was slightly lower than Alex’s waist, and Alex was slightly smaller than John, so he had to dip his face to reach Alexander's lips. Neither of them minded.

At some stage, Alexander must've gotten back his usual confidence - John was guided backwards by Alex’s pressuring lips and lithe body until his calves hit the side of the bed. He stumbled a little, disconnecting from Alex as he caught his balance again, hands propping himself up. There was a sudden force on his shoulders and Alexander's hand pushing him down, causing him to sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. Alexander was swinging his leg across the span of his lap before he knew what was happening, but John wasn't going to complain.

Alexander settled himself in John’s lap like an entitled cat, fingers running down the front of his chest as he regained his breath. John only stared at him, at his wide, almost goofy smile, at his reddened face and disorganised hair, at his closest friend, at the man he'd fallen for without even knowing it.

For once, both of them were silent.

It was the type of silence that blanketed them when they both were deep in their own minds, spilling out argument after argument onto the page, sharing the same desk, the same paper, for the same purpose.

It was Alexander who broke the silence.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“And we don't know when we'll see each other again.”

“No.”

Alexander's gaze began wandering lower, clawing along the waistband of John’s trousers. “Would it be moving too fast if I…”

His voice trailed off into an unspoken question, anticipation pouring into the silence, filling it up with imagined possibilities. Alex outstretched a hand, and John’s mouth ran dry. He leaned forwards and kissed Alexander, deep and passionate, giving him his clear answer. He could feel Alex trying to kiss back, but his lips kept sliding upwards into a giddy grin, his hands quietly lowering down John’s torso with every passing second. John only pushed the kiss to a new intensity, hearing Alex’s sharp inhale as his tongue slicked past his open mouth, living up to his earlier words.

Alexander’s fingers grazed past John’s lower stomach, a cool metal band catching briefly on the hemline of his trousers. A jolt ran through John.

Eliza.

“Alex - your -” John tried to gasp out as Alexander gulped down a breath, his face flushed a crimson red.

Alex only stared at him, silent for once, and shook his head. John shut his mouth.

Then Alexander’s body was moulding down hard on top of his and his tongue was slinking into his mouth this time, hands curled up tightly in John’s hair and he could barely keep track of what his own body was doing, responding to Hamilton’s touches fully, head whirling around with thoughts he could no longer understand or vocalise.

“John,” Alexander murmured thickly, separating their lips for a mere moment to kiss his freckled jaw, to whisper against his neck.

“I thought about it a lot - about our relationship - and I think - I know - that you're the person I want to be with,” Alexander breathed out, giving John some space, blinking heavily down at him. John’s breath stuck in his throat, loaded down with shame. His wife was pregnant. Alex couldn't - wouldn't abandon them to be with John. It wasn't fair on Eliza, wasn't fair on Alex, with all his wishes to have children to carry on his legacy, his dreams he'd spilled out to Laurens so often. John bit into his lip, hard, and felt his skin give way underneath the enamel, a trickle of blood running down his gums.

Alexander, his lips swollen, spoke on, his voice feverish and elevated.

“I'll write to Eliza, help her understand, and once the war’s over, we can find a place in New York, you can live with Eliza and me-”

“Alex, stop,” John choked out, not meaning his voice to sound so heightened, so distraught. “Eliza’s pregnant. You can't do that, any of that! Eliza’s head over heels for you, and you can't abandon her with her child - what if her father finds out? If my parents realise? If _anyone at all_ finds out? You'll lose your standing, everything you've fought for during the war - you’ll be shoved to the side and forgotten, your political career over. Washington can't stay in power forever, and people like Lee will always be out there - Alex, you and me can never happen.”

Alexander just stared at him, his dark eyes broad and shimmering dangerously.

“Trust me,” John said, and the unsteady words cracked apart on his tongue. “I've thought about it a lot longer than you have.”

Alexander swallowed hard, his expression crumbling down into hopelessness. He sat back, and John slid his legs out from underneath him, the warmth of Alex’s body too tempting to bear. He shoved his arousal to the side with little difficulty, the mood utterly broken with the truth of their circumstances.

“Eliza’s….pregnant?” fell from Alexander's lips.

John averted his eyes. Of course that's what he focused on. “She wrote to Washington, asked to send you home. It wasn't just the duel with Lee. He wants to hang onto you for as long as possible, though. He’ll send you home in time for the birth.”

Laurens couldn't help a stream of bitterness tangling up his voice, hating how glad Alexander looked, his eyes shining with much more than unshed tears. He knew how much he had always wanted a child, but it still stung.

“I'm leaving tomorrow,” he announced abruptly, rolling away from Alexander, feet falling over the edge of his bed. “So if you could leave me get some sleep, that'd be great.”

His lips throbbed where Alex had kissed him so feverently.

Alexander reached for his hand.

“John, I can't deny that I'm thrilled to hear about Eliza, but you and me -”

“Not worth talking about,” John cut him off, his eyes burning with tears he couldn't show. “Go to sleep, Alexander.”

Alexander, however, would not be silenced so easily. He shifted up so he was sitting beside John, his shoulder brushing against his. He spoke low and confidently, trying to get John to meet his eyes.

“I won't be shoved aside from this nation’s founding so easily, and even if I am - it's worth the risk. You're worth the risk.”

John’s eyes were watering, and he wiped them furiously. “No. No, you have the chance to be a father, be a husband, be everything you have ever wanted, and I'm not going to fuck that up for you. You even have a shot at becoming President, right? You think that'll happen if it comes out that you're in a relationship with a man?”

Alexander tried to protest this point.

“John, I don't care if-”

“Don't lie to me,” John told him sharply. “We've been friends for too long, I know what's important to you.”

“Then you should know how important you are to me too,” Alex challenged, moving in closer to John’s side, his fingers skimming across his jaw, gently turning his head towards him. “You sound like you've already given up. That isn't like you. I don't understand. You've fought for equal rights, for our country, for Washington - why won't you fight for us? For me? Argue with me, John. I saw how you looked when you were duelling Lee, and you look the complete opposite now.”

John released a long sigh, his fingers curling up in the thin material of his trousers. He gazed at Alexander, stubborn Alexander Hamilton, containing the same fire that caused him to fall for him, and wondered why he couldn't accept reality.

“Those are easy fights, Alexander. Far, far easier fights than what you're suggesting,” Laurens told him wearily, rotating his face away. “I'm tired.”

“John,” Alexander urged lowly, grasping his bare arm. “Listen to me.”

John shook his arm off, standing up and dragging his palms down his flushed face. “Please, leave it be.”

He despised the way his voice warbled at the end, so he stumbled over to his side of the tent, crawling underneath his own thin woollen sheets. It was a mild enough night, warm enough to sleep without anything, but right now he needed the comfort.

“John…”

“Is that all you can say?” John snapped out. “All those countless essays and letters you write, and that's all you can come up with?”

Alexander stood up, crossing the small space between their beds quickly, and bent over John’s bed. He took him by the shoulders and kissed his freckle-adorned cheek.

“I don't like relying on people for my happiness,” Alex said lowly, and John listened. “I'd rather depend on myself than my surroundings for that. I hate you, because somehow you made it past my defences. Somehow you made me love you, and my happiness relies on you, or more accurately, me being with you. That's the truth of it. Are you satisfied now?”

John couldn't help it - he sat up and took Alex’s face in his hands, pressing his captivating lips flush against his. He felt Alex’s slow inhale against his mouth, eyes flickering shut as a warm hand ringed around the back of Laurens’ neck.

“Alex?” Laurens murmured as their lips parted.

Alexander hummed, his eyes lethargic.

“You're going to be an amazing dad,” John told him quietly.

Alexander’s gaze roamed over his face, and tried one last time.

“Don't go tomorrow. Stay here for a couple of days longer,” he pleaded, sitting on the edge of John’s bed. “We can work something out.”

“Delay, you mean. There's only one outcome from this,” John said wearily, turning over with his back to Alex. He avoided Alex’s damn eyes, darkly profound and so compelling John was afraid he’d get sucked in again, give in to the temptation to drag Alex down on top of him, indulge himself for one night.

It would only make everything harder.

Alexander’s stubbornness was growing tiresome. He wouldn't leave John’s side. He could still feel him there, a determined presence in the dark, and then his hand was wrapping around John’s, promising that he wasn't going anywhere just yet.

“Goodnight, Alex,” John finally said, hoping to shift him.

Instead, he got Alexander clambering into bed beside him, arms delicately drawing around John, one around his waist, the other slipping around his upper chest. John's chest felt tight, almost suffocated with the casual way Alexander hugged him, overpowered with the feeling that _this was how it was supposed to be._

“Don't go tomorrow,” Alexander murmured against John’s shoulder. “Wait.”

John blew out a breath, and his hands gripped around Alexander's. “Fine, you stubborn asshole. I won't go tomorrow.”

It was the first and last lie he'd ever tell Alex, and the smile of gratitude he felt against his back almost broke him.

\----

When Washington carefully lifted the flap of Laurens’ and Alex’s tent the next morning, he only saw one sleeping form, hair loose and splayed, curled up in the wrong bed.

He had already bade Laurens goodbye earlier this morning, a few hours prior.

He didn't have the heart to wake Alexander just yet, but it turned out he didn't have a choice. Alexander tossed over, his lips half-forming around unheard words, eyelashes quivering as he began waking up. His arm slung out over the side, the sheets slipping down, and Washington noticed that he was shirtless. How far did they go last night? Washington wondered briefly, and then realised he really didn't want to know. His subordinates personal affairs were none of his business.

Washington stepped back, letting the flap settle back into place. He wanted to make sure Alex wouldn't do something stupid.

He heard Alex rustle around a bit more, and maybe thirty seconds later, two urgent thumps against the floor.

“John?” came a hesitant call, and then a strangled gulp, muffled by what Washington presumed was a palm clasped over his mouth.

Less than ten seconds later, Alexander raced out of the tent barefoot, his coat only half on, one loose arm flapping aimlessly in the wind, his hair flinging carelessly in his face. Scanning all of his surroundings frantically, he leapt forwards a step, then was jerked back by a hand around his arm.

“Let me go!” Alexander demanded, whipping around to face Washington, fiercely ripping his arm out of his grasp. There was no anger in his tone, no real bite, only furious desperation, the type Washington had seen endless times in soldiers. The result of being completely and utterly helpless, hands bound pathetically.

Washington didn't say anything, knowing that Hamilton knew how futile it was to run after him, chase him - for what? Another day draining away, longing for something that can never happen? John had already fought reality with every bone in his body, and he could only accept it, or shatter.

There are some things you cannot fight, and Alexander was realising that now. Perhaps he could forget it for a night, a week, a month, but the ending was always the same.

Alexander's expression cracked open, and his eyes hurt to look at. He gripped Washington’s lower arms with a strength he really shouldn't have after only a mere few hours of restless sleep.

“He's coming back, isn't he?” dropped from his lips, a mere breath, almost disintegrating into the wind. “He's coming back, right? Tell me he's coming back once he gathers the battalion. Washington, tell me he's-”

His own voice failed him, fracturing into a soft moan as he let go, gripping at his own hair in panicked, fading hope.

“I don't know,” Washington answered quietly. “It depends on him. How well he can organise scouting, how willing the men down there are to join up, how cooperative the owners are - it all depends on his circumstances.”

“It all depends on the circumstances,” Alexander repeated flatly, his dark eyes dull, like the rusted brass of a once ornate button. He fixated his gaze on Washington. “Everything depends on the fucking _circumstances_ , doesn't it?”

He walked past Washington without a word, back into the tent. Washington stepped in, taking a slip of paper from his pocket.

“Alexander…”

Nursing his head in his arms, caging it in with his own body, Washington could barely pick up on the shaking of Alex's head, only hearing the single guttural, throaty sob.

“He asked me to give you this,” Washington said softly, resting a supportive hand on Alex’s shoulder as he placed the folded letter beside him.

“I'll read it later,” came the quiet, strangled answer.

Washington bowed his head. He understood not being able to handle certain things at a given time.

Alexander unfurled himself, knees coming down from his chest, his lower lip vanished underneath his teeth. With one step, he covered the ground to his desk, both of his hands landing face down on the many, many sheets splayed out over the surface. With a gasp, the pages crumpled beneath his fingers, curving into claws.

“He told me he would stay for a few more days,” Alexander said helplessly, facing Washington, his sorrow-weathered eyes begging with the question, why?

Washington bowed his head, unable to answer him. “I'm sorry, son. I should've convinced him to say goodbye.”

Alex swallowed thickly, turning back to his desk, slumping down into the chair. His hand crushed closed around the quill, tears splattering onto the page in front of him.

“I can't be thinking of him,” he whispered. “I have so much work to do.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> congratulations you made it this far!!  
> I hope y'all enjoyed it, they were a lot of fun to write and explore, the precious children.  
> I wish I could've had them work it out somehow but the reality of it is so sad  
> drop some kudos and let me know what you thought, I might do a part two if you like it, aka completely turning it into an au where john doesn't die with a happy ending  
> actually the specifics and politics of that would be interesting to work out, I'm totally up for it  
> UPDATE : well fuck I've started a part two. 16/7/17. thank you to all who encouraged me <3  
> UPDATE : 22/9/17. THERE IS NOW A SEQUEL, NOT EVEN A PART TWO BUT A WHOLE NEW ELABORATE STORY. be flawed, part of this series. check it out.


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